


Scenes in the Life of an Empath

by aggiepuff



Series: Empath [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Mutants, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes in the life of Callie Marks, empath mutant, graduate of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and, now, Agent of SHIELD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soulmarks

Steve Rogers never got a Soulmark. Everyone else in his class got theirs when they went through puberty (except cool, athletic Bucky Barnes and the two bonded over it). Growing up a poor, sickly kid in Brooklyn Steve always thought it is a good thing he never got a Mark. He figures that way his Soulmate wouldn't have the onerous job of taking care of him and then The War starts and he's doubly grateful that he doesn't have a Soulmate to be ashamed of his inability to enlist and then to cry and worry for him after the serum. That's why, when he wakes up after being frozen for seventy years, he's struck dumb by the words in thin, lavender script tattooed on his chest right above his heart that he sees in the mirror: _Hello. My name is Callie Marks._

Callie Marks is grateful that she never got a Soulmark. She's an Empath Mutant freak. Well, she personally doesn't think she's a freak but she knows that's how a lot of people see her and those like her and it would be just her luck to be despised by her Soulmate for being who and what she is so no, she's not all that disappointed about never getting a Mark. She's also never asked what having a Soulmark is like. She already knows. She can feel the hidden, constant impatience and desire of people eagerly awaiting that first meeting. She also knows the dread of those who would pay anything to be Markless and the deep, unending sorrow at the loss of a Soulmate. She doesn’t know what it feels like when a Mark actually appears though. That's probably why she doesn't pay any attention to the mild itching on her left forearm that begins just after her lunch break one rainy Tuesday and lasts for barely a minute. Idly, she reaches up with her right hand and scratches at the skin under her sleeve.

It isn't until Callie returns home and is stripping off her SHIELD sweatshirt after a quick workout at the gym that she notices the words in the mirror, plain as day in thick, American flag blue letters: _Are you a SHIELD agent too?_

She stares. She stares for so long her bathroom fills with steam. It's only when the mirror is completely covered in condensation that she tears her eyes from her reflection and stumbles into the shower. 

Callie barely feels the water from the showerhead beat down on her skin. The thrum of water on her back, usually so soothing, is doing absolutely nothing to quell the panic in her heart. She can't bring herself to look at her arm. Mechanically she goes through her shower time routine, then, once she's toweled herself dry and slipped her over large sleeping shirt over her head, she collapses into bed. Deep in her heart she hopes she imagined the Mark; that it'll be gone when she wakes up. 

It’s not.

Callie knows she has to report her new Mark to SHIELD and not just because it names her as an agent. SHIELD makes it a policy to protect their agents’ Soulmates. They understand the value of protecting the things that their agents value.

So, the first thing Callie does when she gets into the office the next day is tell Coulson, who’s visiting New York for a reason she has yet to be made aware of. He asks to see it. She pulls back the sleeve of her blouse and holds out her arm. He studies it carefully, comments about the color because this particular shade of blue is unique and mostly seen on the American Flag, then tells her to go down to R&D where they can begin to formulate a plan to hide the _SHIELD_ part.

The R&D gremlins say they’ll have something for her in the next two weeks but in the meantime she’s restricted to the SHIELD base in New York which means McDougal’s face breaks out into an expression of unholy glee as he places a stack of paperwork that is at least three feet tall on her desk. All Callie can do is glare as she picks up the first form from the top of the stack. Yeah, she’s really not liking this Soulmark thing.

 

* * *

 

Callie flips through the official SHIELD folder Fury had dropped unceremoniously on her desk that morning. It is the dossier of one recently recovered Steven Grant Rogers, United States Army Captain, alias Captain America; born 1920 in Brooklyn, New York; enlisted during World War II, and assigned to the SSR, the branch of the Army that eventually became SHIELD, where he was chosen by Dr. Erskine to be the subject into whom the good doctor’s super solider serum was injected. After the successful procedure the Captain and his self titled Howling Commandos had engaged in all sorts of shenanigans in the European theater of World War II.

The file reads like a history book entitled _SHIELD:_ _the Early Years_. Callie herself has her own second-hand stories about the famous Captain. Her adopted mother had been the Howling Commando’s Communications Officer during WWII and whenever Callie could convince her, Cora seemed especially fond of telling stories that would make their subjects go pink in the ears. The ones about the Howling Commandos were always Callie’s favorites and now she is about to meet their illustrious leader.

Callie snaps the folder shut. Now is not the time to fangirl over Captain Rogers. Fury wants her to assess the good Captain’s state of mind (never mind Callie has talked herself hoarse trying to explain that she can’t really read people’s minds, just know how they are feeling).

Captain Rogers is being held in the medical wing of SHIELD’s New York office. Callie slips through the halls, completely ignored by the men and women all wearing immaculate business suits in varying shades of black or navy. Callie herself is wearing a bright red with white polka dots blouse and black pencil skirt as is the privilege of being Senior SHIELD Special Agent Phil Coulson’s Administrative Assistant. Her glossy black flats make no sound on the tile and are comfortable for work shoes, but she still has a pair of tennis shoes tucked safely inside her large black leather purse.

The medical wing is empty save for the doctors and nurses. Callie gives Alicia, the blonde nurse-in-charge, a smile. It is Alicia who always administers Callie’s inoculations whenever she comes in for boosters, mostly because Callie doesn’t trust herself not to lose control with anyone else. The two women get along well though Alicia insists on nagging Callie about her weight and how she needs to gain some. It isn’t Callie’s fault her appetite isn’t as large as some people’s.

“I’m here to see Captain Rogers, Alicia.”

Callie doesn’t have any misgivings about saying the name of the ward’s only occupant; his identity isn’t a secret from Alicia. That, however, is mostly because Fury knows it is impossible to keep anything from the nurses, just like it is impossible to keep anything from the secretaries. Not worth the fight, Callie had once heard him tell Coulson which, as an Administrative Assistant, Callie thoroughly approves of.

Alicia nods. “He’s in room 6,” she says.

Callie thanks her and walks around the nurse’s station. At the end of the hall the door to room 6 is flanked by two men dressed all in black tactical gear. They don’t have guns but there are tazer batons strapped to their utility belts. Callie has to keep herself from rolling her eyes. As if tazers would stop Captain America.

“Agent Marks to see Captain Rogers,” she says, flashing her SHIELD ID.

The guard on the left checks his tablet then nods to his partner who opens the door. Callie gives them both a smile and slips inside the heavy metal door.

Room 6 is one of the heavily modified rooms in medical designed to withstand a great deal of force from both inside and out. Callie isn’t entirely sure what to expect when she slips into the medical room but Captain Rogers sitting on the hospital bed fully dressed in a tight white shirt and khaki pants, his head bowed and hands clasped between his legs, is not it.

Callie sets her bag down to the right of the door as the lock clicks behind her. A pair of baby blue eyes swing around to fix her with an assessing stare as she straightens. Callie swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Logically she knows Captain America won’t hurt her. To him she is a defenseless woman, she hadn’t even brought in her SHIELD standard-issue glock, but all the logic in the world can’t override thirteen years of conditioning to hide whenever alone with a large man whose full focus is on her.

Callie forces herself to take a steadying breath and focus. She has a job to do and Fury is expecting a full report. Carefully, she lowers her mental walls, allowing her senses to extend out into the room, brushing against the Captain’s psyche.

“Hello,” she says with a warm smile, “I’m Callie Marks.”

Something ripples through the Captain. It is too faint for Callie to register exactly what it is but it is something, something important.

Captain Rogers' mouth twists in a mockery of a smile and something Callie can only describe as resignation settles in his chest. “Are you a SHIELD Agent too?”

His words stop Callie cold. Her stomach drops and her heart is suddenly in her throat. Callie reflexively grips the inside of her left forearm. The words, still so new, peak out from the ¾ sleeve of her blouse.

Captain Rogers’ gaze flicks to her arm. “Our words match,” he says. He isn’t happy about it; he isn’t happy but he also isn’t angry. _At least he’s not angry_ , Callie thinks and tries not to laugh. It is all so ridiculous. Captain America? Her Soulmate? What kind of twisted joke is the Universe trying to play on her?

Callie swallows thickly, forcing her hysteria down. “Our words match,” she confirms, praying her voice doesn’t sound too strangled.

Rogers shakes his head and laughs. It is a hollow sound that doesn’t remind her of any happy sound she has ever heard. Callie watches as he stands and dear God the man is _tall_. He towers over her and has to be over six feet if he is an inch. The smile he gives her is nothing more than a wry twist to his lips. He holds out his hand. “Steve Rogers, ma’m. Please call me Steve.”

Callie glances down to his hand then back up to his eyes. They are so blue and so sad. She didn’t think one person could _be_ this sad, and she’s about to make it worse. She doesn’t take his offered hand. “Callie Marks, please call me Callie,” she says. Glancing back down at his hand she shifts her weight from one foot to another, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I can’t touch…” Her voice trails off, weak and pathetic. Heat burns her cheeks and she has to look away. It isn’t like she doesn’t _want_ to shake his hand. She’d like nothing more than to see how warm his hands are and feel them wrap around her own miniscule-by-comparison hand. What she doesn’t want is to influence him, however. With the strength of her emotions right now she could unconsciously do that. Even after all these years spent honing her Empathy she still doesn’t have full control, especially when her emotions are running so high.

Steve is too much of a gentleman to feel offended when his Soulmate refuses to shake his hand but that doesn’t mean he isn’t curious. Callie can feel his curiosity and then immense gratitude bubbles in her own chest when he doesn’t press.

“So,” Steve says, dropping his hand. “Soulmates.”

Callie shrugs. “I guess. If you want, that is.”

He raises an eyebrow. “If I want?” he asks slowly.

Callie can feel his confusion. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, yeah,” she says. “I only got my Mark three days ago. Probably right when you woke up, actually.”

“You never had a Mark before that?” Steve’s forehead creases. Callie can almost see the mechanics of his brain whirling behind his baby blue eyes.

Callie shakes her head. “No. I’m not really sure what to do now. I never really paid attention to the first meeting etiquette lectures growing up since I didn’t have, you know…”

Steve looks at the floor, thinking. Callie only gets the vaguest impressions of what he is feeling as he considers all his options; man had some very good psychic walls. After a moment he looks back up, meeting Callie’s gray eyes, and says, “I’m not really sure what to do either and I’m not sure I’m ready to have a romantic Soulmate yet. I just woke up.”

Callie can feel waves of guilt rolling through him. The pressure on her own chest lifts and she suddenly finds she can breathe easier. She smiles and tries to make it not seem relieved. “I wouldn’t expect you to be,” she says. “Truth is, I’m not ready to have a romantic Soulmate either, but I’d love to have a friend.”

Steve returns her relieved smile, his broad shoulders relaxing. “Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

“Good.”


	2. Phone Calls and Transfers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callie calls her mom and gets transferred.

The first thing Callie does when she gets home is call her number five speed dial.

“What’s up buttercup?” The voice that answers is warm and cheerful, low-pitched and husky with age.

Callie plops onto her sofa, cellphone cradled to her ear. She takes a breath. “You’ll never guess who’s alive.”

On the other head of the call, Cora Redrock waits for her adopted daughter to tell her, stomach twisting. Cora is a mutant with a healing factor and old, as old as the United States itself. The list of people she thinks are dead is quite long and comprised of the majority of the people she’s ever met. There is no telling who Callie is talking about.

Callie pauses for dramatic effect, licks her lips. Although Cora is several hundred miles away Callie can feel her tension coiling tight like a spring in her mother’s chest. Callie takes another breath. “Captain America, aka—”

“Steve,” Cora breathes. “They found him. Steve Rogers. SHIELD found Steve Rogers.” And then Cora begins muttering, the words all in a rush. It feels like a prayer to Callie, something in a lilting, deep language that sounds older than time itself. Callie doesn’t understand what Cora is saying but she knows the language she is speaking: Jicarilla Apache, her native tongue.

Callie waits until there is a lull in Cora’s prayer before she speaks again. “There’s more.”

Cora chokes. “More?”

Callie’s eyebrows rise. She’s never heard Cora sound so…discombobulated. Cora is _old_. Old people aren’t _supposed_ to be discombobulated. They’re supposed to all wise and calm and stuff, like Gandalf, or Dumbledore. But Callie can feel Cora’s…discombobulation, like waves on the surface of a usually smooth pond. Cora is excited and hopeful and scared all at once; it’s weird.

“Yeah,” Callie says, biting her lip. “More.”

“Well?” Cora demands.

Callie shifts in her seat, brown leather creaking beneath her. “Remember that Soulmark I told you about a couple days ago?”

Cora doesn’t need it spelled out for her. “No.”

Callie nods though she knows Cora can’t see her. “Yeah.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Steve is…?”

“Ah huh.”

“And SHIELD knows?”

“I would assume so since it happened in…I guess you would call it Steve’s holding room?”

“His holding room?”

“Yeah. There’s a room in the New York office’s med wing that’s all reinforced. Apparently when he first woke up they had him in a room staged to look like the 40s and he ripped it all to shreds so they moved him to something with a little bit more reinforcement.”

“And they’re _keeping_ him there?”

“I get the distinct feeling that the only reason it’s working is because he’s not fighting it.”

Cora snorts. “I _guarantee_ that’s the only reason. Kid’s this weird, unstoppable force of nature when he sets his mind to something—like a hurricane, or a tornado. You shoulda seen him tear through Hydra like rice paper.” Her voice softens, deepens, as she’s dragged into memories. “It was beautiful. Him and Barnes and the Howlies…” Her words trail off, the silence heavy.

Callie waits, holds her breath. Not for the first time she wonders if Logan isn’t the lucky one for losing his memories. Sometimes Cora’s mind is overtaken by the things she’s seen, the things she’s done. At least Logan doesn’t have those ghosts haunting his head. Finally Callie can’t take it anymore. “Mom?”

Cora takes a deep breath. “Right, sorry.” She breathes in again, lets it out, the gust loud over the phone. “So,” she says, “how is he?”

Callie stands, begins pacing across the large area rug in her living room. “Well,” she starts, then pauses. How is Steve Rogers? She’d been with him for the better part of the day just talking. He hadn’t been _bad_ , per se, but he hadn’t been _good_ , either. His emotions were all over the place, filling the air around him with every color of the rainbow and the more they talked, the more she saw the black seeping from beneath his skin, faint at first but steadily growing and spreading but still not quite substantial. Callie hasn’t seen black like that…in a very long time.

“If he’s not depressed now, he’s going to be,” she finally says. “I told the Director he needs to have weekly appointments with a psychiatrist, probably for the rest of his life, and he’s going to have PTSD if he doesn’t already.”

“Steve’s going to fight the psychiatrist thing,” Cora comments. “Brooklyn’s progressive but talking to shrinks usually lead to being locked up in an asylum in his day.”

“Brooklyn?”

“It’s what I called him way back when. Him and Barnes cause they were good ole Brooklyn boys, you know? Hey, does he still have the accent?”

The corner of Callie’s mouth twitches. “Little bit, especially when you get him going.”

Cora laughs.

 

* * *

 

Callie gets her new assignment a week after she meets her Soulmate. Staring at the official transfer papers she swears she’s been bounced between more SHIELD departments and offices than anyone else on the planet and she’s being moved _again_. Orders straights from Director Fury himself, complete with his signature right there at the bottom of the crisp white paper in thick black ink.

“The…Meta-Human…Liaison…Office?” she says slowly, disbelievingly, gray eyes flicking from the paper in her hand to Coulson standing in front her desk.

Coulson smiles down at her, the very picture of bland innocence. “Yes. The Meta-Human Liaison Office. After all, you are uniquely qualified.”

Callie flashes back to when she first joined SHIELD, how badly she had wanted to be assigned to the Meta-Human Liaison Office. Back then being in the Meta-Human Liaison Office had seemed like the most logical place for her to be. Technically she is a meta-human of the Mutant variety. She has connections with the X-Men. Why wouldn’t she be assigned to the New York-based office? But SHIELD had had other plans. She’d been put on the Helicarrier instead which she hadn’t really been all that upset about because her adoptive sister Lena Ramirez is a consultant—Lena insisted on being a consultant only rather than a full-time agent—based out of the Helicarrier. She’d bounced around the various mini-departments housed on the Helicarrier for a while, starting out as an errand runner, then a part-time undercover agent, then general assistant, then a lab assistant (which really hadn’t ended well), before finally being assigned to Coulson as his junior assistant. That assignment had lasted the longest, nearly five years, and been interspersed with other temporary assignments and missions with such a wide variety of departments she’d started growing suspicious of Fury’s motives. And now this.

Callie holds the order up, facing Coulson so he can clearly see the printed words. “Why does it say _Assistant Director_?”

“That’s your new job,” Coulson says simply. Nothing about him is readable. Coulson is as good as the Black Widow at keeping his emotions from her.

Callie blanches. “You can’t be serious! I’m _twenty-three_! I don’t even have a college degree! There are _a million_ agents more qualified for this position than me!”

But Coulson is shaking his head, a quite smile on his lips. “No,” he says gently, sitting in the plastic chair across from her, “there really aren’t.” He leans forward, pale, earnest blue eyes gazing at her steadily. He continues, “As a meta-human yourself, you have connections and qualifications no other agent has. What’s more, your own mutation will enable you to handle politically fraught situations, possibly even influence them to the advantage of SHIELD and the world.”

Callie’s gut twists uncomfortably. Xavier’s warnings against abusing her ability echoes from somewhere in the back of her mind. But she trusts Coulson. He’s the SHIELD ideal, exactly what Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, and General Phillips imagined when founding the agency; Cora told her so. She looks down at the sheet of paper in her hand again, swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Finally, she says, “Alright. I accept my new assignment.”

“Excellent!” He stands, turns to leave then pauses, looking back over his shoulder expression oddly hopefully all of a sudden. “Maybe you can introduce me to your Soulmate sometime?”

Callie’s eyebrow rises, a grin spreading across her face. “Sure, boss,” she laughs. “Next time you’re in New York I’ll definitely introduce you.”

Coulson’s glee shines on his face, as giddy as a schoolboy.


	3. Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months out of the ice and Steve has a new apartment and new neighbors.

SHIELD gives him his own apartment two months after he wakes up. In those two months he’s had history and technology lessons from SHIELD-approved instructors, psychological evaluations from SHIELD’s army of head shrinkers and been introduced to SHIELD’s standard operating procedures. Through it all Callie has not been far away. She helps him explore his brave new world, explains things to him in a way he understands and when he gets lost in the memories, she’s there waiting for him on the other side of the fog. He doesn’t love her, not yet, but he’s beginning to see how he could, one day.

The apartment SHIELD gives him is comfortable, one of two on the third floor of a SHIELD-owned brownstone building. The agent who gives him the tour says it’s usually used as guest housing for visiting higher-ups. The building across the street, another, almost identical brownstone, is more permanent housing for agents level 6 and up. The best part about his new apartment? It’s in Brooklyn.

He’s just stepping out of his new building his first morning when he catches movement at the front door of the other SHIELD brownstone out of the corner of his eye. He turns to look, curious about his new neighbors. At the sight of thick curly brown hair and mocha skin the bottom drops out of his stomach. Callie Marks, his Soulmate, stands on the stoop of the building, grinning her big, full, white-toothed grin up at a lanky young man with brown hair and pale skin. Even from this distance Steve can see the young man is leanly muscled and no older than twenty-two, roughly the same age as Callie. His mouth goes dry as, still smiling, Callie gives the young man a hug. She actually touches him, a privilege Steve has yet to be granted. His heart constricts painfully.

Callie has always been so incredibly careful to never, ever let him touch her. When they walk together their hands don’t brush, their shoulders don’t rub, nothing, not even the barest of touches. He’s supposed to be her Soulmate but here she is, one hundred feet from him, obviously intimately comfortable with a man other than him, one whom she has never mentioned to him.

With one more squeeze, Callie releases her male friend and he goes on his way. Callie watches him go with a fond smile. Once he turns the corner and is out of sight she turns to go back inside only to pause when she catches sight of Steve on the sidewalk. She grins and waves, trotting down the porch steps and across the street. It’s as she moves Steve notices for the first time what, exactly, she is wearing: loose gray sweatpants and long sleeved scoop neck white top. There’s quite a bit of exposed skin with that top and Steve, well, he forces himself to look into her gray eyes rather than her exposed chest.

“Hey, Steve,” she says, wide smile bright on her dark face.

Steve forces himself to return her smile. “Hello, Callie.” He glances down the street then back to Callie’s face. “Who was your friend?” He tries to keep the jealousy from his voice, he really does, but Callie’s bight smile falters.

“Who? Peter? He’s a friend. Needed a place to crash after he got into a fight with his girlfriend.”

Steve blinks, relief washing over him. “Oh. He, uh, he looked nice.”

Callie’s smile grows wide again. “Peter’s a complete and total sweetheart and crazy about his girlfriend Gwen but sometimes he’s an idiot.”

Steve nods. That’s something he can understand.

Silence stretches between them, slightly uncomfortable and a little bit awkward. Callie shifts her weight. Steve glances at the ground, casting about for something to say bt nothing comes to him. Finally Callie sighs and her gray eyes dim. “Well, it was nice seeing you Steve. You’ll have to come by sometime, now that we’re neighbors.” She smiles at him but she’s still inexplicably sad and he doesn’t know why.

He hates that he doesn’t know why. He tracks Callie as she turns and heads back to her apartment building. He watches her punch in her building code and disappear behind the heavy, metal blast door. Steve sighs as the last of her vanishes from view and he’s left standing alone on the street.

 

* * *

 

Steve notices over the next several days that Callie seems to have visitors at all times of the day and night. Her friend Peter stops by, bringing with him four friends; he also sees her welcome several men and women all sporting the same black tattoo; he thinks he even saw a woman who sent chills up his spine she looked so much like the Howling Commandos’ Communications Officer Cora Redrock.

Every time Steve sees her it’s on the stoop of her brownstone. He’d thought he might see her when Fury ordered him to SHIELD’s New York office but it seems Callie has been given an assignment that allows her to work from home but keeps her busier than an entire hive of bees. She still texts him, sends him TV and movie suggestions, but as for talking face-to-face? Well, neither seems to have much free time.

 

* * *

 

Callie watches Steve leave for another meeting with Fury from her living room window. As he disappears down the street she lets the cream colored curtain fall back into place. Taking a deep breath she lets it out in a sigh, turning to face the copper skinned woman reclining lazily on the brown leather sofa. The fluorescent lighting casts her high cheekbones and intelligent green eyes into sharp relief. Callie can feel the cool bemusement rolling off her adoptive mother in waves. Callie crosses her arms defensively. “What?”

Cora Redrock can’t help but smile. “So,” she says, “your Soulmate, huh?”

Callie scowls. “That’s _not_ why I called you here.”

Cora’s smile widens into a full grin. She props her head up with a hand, elbow resting on the arm of the couch. “Are you sure ‘bout that?”

Callie’s scowl darkens. “Yes!”

Cora’s emerald eyes sparkle and that stupid knowing smile doesn’t leave her face. Callie bites back a growl. “We are not discussing this now,” she growls. Marching forward she snatches a manilla folder from the coffee table and, with a flick of the wrist, sends it spinning into Cora’s lap. “We’re discussing this.”

Cora catches the folder, idly noting the “CLASSIFIED: PROPERTY OF SHIELD” stamped in gray across the front. “Whatever you say, dear,” she says with one last knowing smirk.

Callie rolls her eyes but keep her mouth shut. Even being able to convince Cora to drop a subject for a little while was an impressive achievement. She watches Cora flip the folder open and being to read, bracing herself for the storm.

Its starts off slow, an almost nonexistent burn. The air around Cora stays clear to Callie’s eye for longer than she expected. It’s not until she’s two-thirds through the document that Cora’s irritation turns to anger. Callie grits her teeth against the pulsing, burning red miasma of Cora’s fury as it paints the air around the Apache woman.

Cora shoots to her feet, a low feral growl like thunder rumbling from her chest. A snarl curls her lip, exposing unusually large, sharp canines. Callie flinches at the sudden movement. The air around Cora has darkened to crimson, and the miasmic cloud of emotion swirls around her as if blown about in a storm.

“Mom?” Callie asks, voice quavering. She has never seen Cora so angry before. This is beyond fury, beyond rage. Callie can’t even begin to identify it.

Suddenly, Cora turns. “I’m going for a walk.” Flinging the folder down onto the coffee table, she stalks from the room. A moment later Callie hears the reinforced front door slam shut with a bang.

“Well,” Callie says to the empty, but thankfully still intact, apartment, “that could have gone worse.”


End file.
